The Soul of the Festival: Order, Rituals, Street Food, and State Power

THE SOUL OF THE FESTIVAL: ORDER, RITUALS, STREET FOOD, AND STATE POWER

Jonathan Espitia

A thesis submitted to the faculty at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of Master of Arts in the Anthropology Department in the Graduate School.

Chapel Hill 2017

Approved by:

Rudi Colloredo-Mansfeld

Florence Babb

Towns Middleton

ii ABSTRACT

Jonathan Espitia: THE SOUL OF THE FESTIVAL: ORDER, RITUALS, STREET FOOD, AND STATE POWER (Under the direction of Rudi Colloredo-Mansfeld)

The rise of Peruvian cuisine as a way of re-branding the nation’s image follows closely the rise of implementing neoliberal policies to spur economic growth. The Peruvian government has focused its attention on regulating informal markets and creating hyper-ordered spaces in festivals held in the capital city, Lima. An understanding of recent Peruvian history and the violence and aftermath of the Shining Path (Sendero Luminoso) is necessary for understanding why food has taken on such a seminal role in forming Peruvian identity. This thesis delves into understanding why food is a vital aspect of the festival in Peru. It does so by engaging with the literature on festivals and rituals as performed by public actors and the state. It engages with the question of what it means for a ritual to be successful and likewise what it means for it to be a failure, within the frameworks of two large festivals, Mistura in Lima and Inti Raymi in Cuzco.

This thesis re-centers the humanity present in festivals and encourages state actors to look beyond the economistic lens and towards an anthropological one. Food is the soul of the festival and focusing on economic growth and formality stifles that very soul.

iii To my partner and friend, Lisa.

iv ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I would like to thank my thesis advisor Dr. Rudi Colloredo-Mansfeld. Rudi’s office door was always open whenever I had a question or ran into trouble while writing. Rudi helped me work through ideas and reign in the chaos of the first draft that I submitted to him.

I would like to thank Dr. Florence Babb for her invaluable insights into Peru and South

America. Her guidance on what books and articles to read was vital to this thesis. I would like to thank Dr. Townsend Middleton for his extensive knowledge of the state and his outstanding abilities as a teacher in introducing me to anthropological theory.

I would also like to thank Dr. Arturo Escobar for expanding the horizons of my thinking and opening a whole new world of intellectual material. Arturo has been both a friend and mentor in my journey through graduate school.

Lastly, I would like to thank my friends and colleagues Anusha Hariharan and Ampson

Hagan for hearing out and discussing my thoughts and ideas over the many meals we shared together as penurious graduate students.

v TABLE OF CONTENTS

Introduction………………………………………………………………………………………. 1

Crisis, Order, and Regulation in Post-Conflict Peru …………………………………………….. 6

Formality/Informality and Neoliberalism in Peru ……………………………………………… 10

Fiestas as Civic Rituals ………………………………………………………………………… 16

The Failed Ritual ……………………………………………………………………………….. 17

On Street Food …………………………………………………………………………………. 22

Conclusion ……………………………………………………………………………………... 29

References ……………………………………………………………………………………… 32

INTRODUCTION

It was the beginning of Inti Raymi, otherwise known as the Festival of the Sun, in Cusco

[Cuzco]. The city was teeming with life as tourists wandered the streets in droves, taking in the sights and smells of the streets. The Avenida del Sol, the main road leading to the Plaza de

Armas, was backed up with traffic as far as the eye could see. The sounds of bands playing and musicians singing drowned out the everyday cacophony of the city’s cars and combis (buses).

For one week, the city’s center would be inundated with tourists from around the world, ready to consume displays of indigeneity before making their way to Machu Picchu. The roads were cordoned off from traffic and pedestrians filled the streets to capacity. There were dozens of vendors in the streets selling caps, sweaters, and jewelry. And while there were a few vendors selling homemade jello cups and candy, there were no food vendors in the main square. There were plenty of restaurants around the square, but I wanted to stay outside and watch the performances. I scanned the square again in the hopes of finding an anticucho (kebab) vendor, but to no avail. So I decided to walk down the Avenida del Sol to see what I could find.

A few blocks away from the plaza de armas was Qoricancha (the temple of the sun). The street east of Qoricancha was lined with small tents of food vendors packed side by side. The vendors were lined in such a way that protected them from the hot Peruvian sun. Women and men (but mostly women) worked over makeshift kitchen spaces as they cleaned and chopped vegetables, fried plantains in large vats of oil, and served chicha by the jug. Some of the vendors had umbrellas, others had small canopies to block out the sun, and others operated without the

1 protection of any shade. Some provided small tables and chairs for customers, others had crates where a customer or two could sit while they ate, and the rest provided no seating.

Dozens of cooks were prepping for the lunch rush that would overfill the streets past capacity. Women were hunched over simmering pots of potatoes and pans of frying onions. The smell of anticuchos permeated the air as cooks fanned the smoke with banana leaves. Large pots of frying oil sizzled as women dropped buñuelo dough by the handful. Dozens of people crowded into the small tents sitting two or sometimes three to a small stool. Soles were exchanged for steaming hot cups of soup, plates of ceviche, and chifa (Chinese-Peruvian fried rice).

The sights, sounds, and smells of the Avenida del Sol were captivating, but what caught my attention was the orderliness of the vendors. But it wasn’t the same type of order that I had seen in the streets of Lima. In Lima, the order imposed upon the streets was issued and enforced by the state. The purpose of the order was to keep streets clean and tidy, to keep vendors out of pedestrians’ paths. In Cusco, however, the scene I observed would look chaotic, a mass of vendors blocking pedestrian traffic. But that chaos was only chaos to the foreign eye because there was an implicit understanding of where vendors could set up and where they couldn’t. It was an order that was not sanctioned or enforced by the state. There were no state officials or officers in the vicinity instructing vendors on how and where to set up. Officers were not in short supply. There were at least two officers at every corner helping to direct traffic. Other officers patrolled the streets. But there were no issues with spillover. There were no vendors that were encroaching too much. I even saw a few of the officers buying anticuchos from one of the female vendors. What types of order exist in festivals and how does the state affect the types of order that appear?

2 As I walked through the rows of vendors, I noticed that there were containers of food sitting unrefrigerated, women serving plates without gloves or hairnets. Money was handled with the same hands that were used to serve food. All of these were violations under food handling laws that chefs in restaurants make sure to avoid in the name of public health. I thought about the accounts and articles I’ve read about Mistura, the international culinary festival that takes place in Lima every year, and how regulated it is down to the smallest details. Mistura was not ordered in contrast to Inti Raymi by a simple binary, rather, Mistura as a festival was governed by a form of hyper-order, an excessive focus on details that are normally left to fall through the cracks during public events. During Mistura, the state produces a form of hyper-order, an ontological state where everything must be in its place for the world to see. This is a necessity for the eyes of the world will especially be set upon Peru whose shadow still holds vestiges of a violent past.

Because Lima is the capital through which all tourists pass, because it is the place where business transactions are handled, because it is the seat of the Peruvian government, the state must remain ever vigilant.

Anthropologist Daniella Gandolfo writes about the Lima she returned to after years of study in the US. It was a city radically transformed after the fall of the Shining Path and the capture of Alberto Guzmán. When Gandolfo arrived in May of 1994, imported vehicles flooded the streets, high-rise buildings had shot up, and electricity lit up even the slums of the city

(Gandolfo, 2009). Peru re-opened itself to the international financial community and capital started pouring in. Gandolfo writes, “New shopping malls had sprouted all over the city, displaying fancy neon signs and windows full of colorful and unusual merchandise” (Gandolfo,

2009, 2).

3 One afternoon, Gandolfo met with the late mayor of Lima, Alberto Andrade. Gandolfo and Andrade talk about the city of Lima in the 1990s, when Andrade was mayor. Andrade talks about the streets of the city center being “abandoned.” But he is referring to it being abandoned by certain people, because the streets were well occupied by street vendors, people who “went out on the streets to sell things” (Gandolfo, 2009, 63). Andrade goes on to talk about the lack of authority to tell the street vendors that they couldn’t operate on those streets. Andrade likens the lack of authority with chaos and dirt, thus equating the street vendors as others. Gandolfo writes about walking through recently evacuated sidewalks which were worn out with cracks and holes, a condition that was noted by city officials refer to as the “culture of informality” (Gandolfo,

2009). Andrade states, “Lima was the capital, the political, cultural, religious center of the viceroyalty. It was a great city. As Limeños, we were concerned with recuperating our identity”

(Gandolfo, 2009, 64). To whom does Andrade refer to when he speaks about recuperating

Limeño identities? When Gandolfo presses him on this question, Andrade goes on to say that his goal through the neoliberal policies of recuperating the city’s center was to recover the Lima of his childhood, the Lima that had 1 million residents (Gandolfo, 2009).

But in a place like Cusco, the indigenous other is allowed to emerge for the amusement of tourists. Tourists expect Peruvians to look a certain way so that they will easier fit into tourists’ pre-conceived categories of the native. Order in Cusco does not have to follow the same mandate of the state that it does in Lima, the same level of hyper-order required of the capital.

Rather, we see forms of order that are flexible and self-regulated.

Journalists from magazines such as Travel and Leisure write about the international allure of Mistura, “Celebrity chefs, a mega-farmer’s market, and a ‘Hall of Pisco’- these are the hallmarks for Mistura, Latin America’s biggest annual food festival” (McShane-Wulfhart, 2016).

4 With the eyes of the culinary world turned in the direction of Lima once a year, the state has a lot to lose if the event does not live up to Western standards. Maria Elena Garcia writes that during

Mistura “hygiene brigades” are deployed to ensure the cleanliness of the food stands, eating areas, and festival workers (Garcia, 2014). Here in Cusco, there was no one regulating the large vats of boiling oil that were used to fry picarones. No one was checking the temperatures of the raw fish used to make ceviche or whether food vendors were using gloves or not. Why, in this particular case, did the state choose not to regulate this informal process when it lay outside the bounds of the law? When in Lima the appearance of one ungloved vendor near Mistura would be eradicated almost immediately. What was it about Inti Raymi that provided a more flexible space than Mistura would? Or perhaps, what is it about Mistura that destroys any possibility for flexibility?

In this thesis, I will delve into some historical background of Peru and the political and economic events that paved the way for the rise of Peruvian gastronomy. An understanding of the violence caused by the Shining Path (Sendero Luminoso), the rise of neoliberal rhetoric as a move away from that violence and towards renewal, and the Peruvian government’s desire to re- brand its image to the world is necessary in order to understand why food has taken on such a seminal role for the nation.

Next I will explore the ideas put forth by neoliberal economists such as Hernando de Soto and I will analyze how these ideas have progressed in Peru in relation to formal and informal economies. I will engage with the literature on informal and formal market economies in order to understand how state regulation has come into being in Lima and Cusco.

Then I will explore the literature on fiestas (festivals) and rituals as performed by public actors and the state. I will look into what it means for a ritual to be successful within a fiesta and

5 I will use Catherine Allen’s framework for the failed ritual to analyze the Mistura and Inti Raymi festivals. Within this analysis I will argue that food is a vital aspect of the fiesta in Peru, specifically it can be thought of as the soul of the fiesta. This is important for the success of the ritual within the larger festival at large.

Crisis, Order, and Regulation in Post-Conflict Peru

In order to understand the context within which the Peruvian state operates we must also understand the state’s recent history. The 1980s are known as the “lost decade” across Latin

America. Economic free-fall during this period was compounded by the rise of Marxist insurgent groups, such as the Shining Path (Starn, 1999). Historian Miguel La Serna has written about the rise of the Shining Path in the department of Ayacucho. La Serna writes that the village of

Chuschi, composed of mostly Quechua-speaking peasants, symbolically ignited the Shining Path guerrilla insurrection and would serve as a rebel stronghold for years to come (La Serna, 2012).

The Shining Path emerged as a militant faction of the Peruvian Communist Party (PCP) in

Ayacucho in 1980 (La Serna, 2012). Alberto Guzmán, a philosophy professor from Ayacucho, headed the group as the PCP-Sendero Lumninoso and dedicated the party’s cause to immediate,

Maoist-style insurrection (La Serna, 2012). Alberto Fujimori, the president of Peru during the peak of the Shining Path, took a hard-handed, violent approach to fighting the insurgency and as a result many peasants in the countryside lost their lives. During this time, Fujimori eroded

Peruvian democracy as he continued to allot himself power to fight the Shining Path. After

Abimael Guzmán’s capture in 1992, the Shining Path began to wane with the loss of its leader.

Fujimori was later ousted from power and exiled from Peru.

6 In the wake of the Shining Path and Fujimori’s exile, Peru as a nation found itself in a moment of crisis. Naomi Klein, in her work Shock Doctrine, writes about how global capitalism seeks crisis conditions in order to restructure economies and societies to favor its own growth and dominance (Klein, 2007). The rise and fall of the Shining Path and the violence that took place in its wake constitutes one such moment of crisis in which global capitalism sought to restructure tourism in Peru. It is no surprise that a nation such a Peru that has experienced a great deal of violence because of the Shining Path has chosen to re-brand its image as a nation fully in control of its destiny. And Lima, as the capital of Peru, is the place where the brand must be the strongest. It is the place where a form of hyper-order will be necessary to repress any traces of a less than “first-world” nation, and any memories of a conflicted and violent past.

What role does the state play in ordering informal economies? As Gramsci has written, the state can be thought of as a coin with two sides, or methods of enforcing hegemonic practices

(Gramsci, 1971). On one side, we have the positive education function and on the other we have the negative repressive function. The ethical state works towards the dissemination of information (education) that moves the lower classes into a certain direction through consent. On the other side the state works towards normalizing certain functions and criminalizing others based on the creation (and enforcement) of laws through coercion. The state in the first moment of crisis with the Shining Path chose to exercise its power in the form of repression and enforcement of violence in order to move forward. Fujimori broadly increased military power at the expense of democracy and human rights.

Thousands were dead or disappeared at the hands of the Shining Path and the military, and Fujimori’s authoritarian response to the guerrillas only worsened the situation (La Serna,

2012). In the aftermath of post-conflict Peru, the state found itself in another moment of crisis,

7 where it would have to once again shift its hegemonic practices from violence and repression to education and image building: a flip of the coin. How could Peru rebuild itself in the wake of such destruction? How could it attract foreign tourists and begin to develop its image to the world as a destination rather than a place to be feared?

Tourism has always been a major source of income for both Cusco and Peru as a whole.

El Comercio, one of Peru’s leading newspapers, reported in 2014 that Machu Picchu generated close to $500 million dollars the year before (El Comercio, 2014). This estimate is based on an official report put out by MINCETUR. This statistic is only based on the number of people visiting Machu Picchu and does not include the tourism revenue being produced by the dozens of other archaeological and cultural sites in and around Cusco. Tourism, then, is a vital part of

Cusco’s economy and contribution to Peru’s GDP.

Florence Babb has written about the prevalence of tourism in post-conflict, post-colonial countries. One example she writes about is a New York Times article regarding Nicaragua. The article stated that Nicaragua was in the running for a competition to invent a new cocktail drink.

The drink would help “brand” the Nicaragua, helping them “put their best drink forward” and could possibly serve as a model for politicians to disassociate the country from the guerrilla war that tore it apart in the 1980s (Babb, 2010, 1-2). Nations such as Nicaragua have turned to tourism as agents for economic recovery, political stability, and a refashioning of heritage and nationhood. Now that the conflict of the Shining Path has subsided in Peru, tourism is once again thriving as an engine of growth.

Some of the most important research on tourism to date has examined how, in what Babb calls the tourism encounter, cultural identity and difference have stirred the imagination of tourists seeking to discover exotic “others” (Babb, 1998). Babb engages with Edward Said’s

8 concept of “orientalism.” In a similar way, tourism can be seen as an imperialist practice of exoticizing the non-Western other (Said, 1978). The same concern is found in the work of scholars who have considered the ways in which national heritage is marketed on the tourist circuit in many regions. Nations and regions are marketing themselves for international tourism and are redefining themselves for their own citizens following periods of dramatic political change.

In the case of Peru, the tourism industry seeks to eclipse the recent history of violent conflict between the Shining Path and the military and instead evoke safer, deeper memories of a rich heritage along with the present and more hospitable culture and environment. In Andean

Peru, we find present-day indigenous people standing in for a more “innocent” past before conflict and rebellion ushered in a crisis of modernity, even if indigenous men and women were centrally involved in those conflicts. In order to portray itself to the world as a tourist destination,

Peru must be able to radiate itself as an image of a “first-world” nation that has all the amenities required by tourists. Peru, and especially Lima, must show the level of hyper-order that it maintains as a reminder to the world that the state will not allow a Marxist insurgency such as the Shining Path to rise again and destroy order. But at the same time Peru must be able to portray part of itself as still connected to that un-ordered (or alt-ordered) Inca past. The face of the indigenous Inca-descendants must remain visible for tourists to take in with their gazes.

Another form of order must exist within Cusco and that form of order must take a different form than it would in Lima.

9 Formality/Informality and Neoliberalism in Peru

Economist Hernando de Soto became an important figure in the debate of how Peru could move beyond its violent past. De Soto was a leading figure in the neoliberal reforms that were being implemented in Peru based on de Soto’s Instituto de Libertad y Democracia policy recommendations. De Soto believed that in order to pull people out of poverty the informal economy had to be formalized. Informal vendors’ lack of formal property excluded them from being able to accumulate capital and prosper in a capitalist society (de Soto, 2003). De Soto treats informality as a product of the inefficiencies of state bureaucracies and regulations, which lead to relatively more efficient, extralegal solutions (de Soto, 2003). De Soto believes that ultimately the state should engage in legalizing informality by both recognizing the property of the poor and by reducing “red tape” and allowing market forces to do its work on market actors

(de Soto, 2003).

De Soto’s policy recommendation takes as given the ideas of finance capitalism and its core features of neoliberal economic policy. De Soto’s simplified version of the world can be summarized as: give the poor formalized property rights and thus unleash their entrepreneurial spirit and thus increase their standards of living (Johnson, 2016). De Soto’s “solution” to informality and thus poverty completely elides any need for wealth distribution or social spending. In a country trying to escape the recent violence of its past, solutions such as de Soto’s are particularly attractive because they provide a means towards raising up the poor (and destitute) in order to increase tourism (and thus tourism dollars). But de Soto’s recommendations that formality would emerge as the state adopted neoliberal policies had the opposite effect. As a result of liberalizing economies in Peru, there has been a sharp rise in informal economies.

10 Linda Seligman writes about the politics of urban space among street vendors in Cusco.

She has worked in Cusco since the early 2000’s and has documented the effects of changes in municipal policies regarding vendors’ occupation of space. These policy changes were directed at formalizing vendors by taking them off the streets and housing them in large warehouses

(centros comerciales) with designated selling spaces. These measures were a response to the ideas held by economists such as de Soto. What is left out by reductionist, economistic views of the world are the negative effects of such policy changes in regard to social aspects of life. The policy changes in Cusco (by way of the mayor) may formalize vending, but the negative aspects include having to vend farther from home, having segmented and discontinuous information- sharing networks (Seligman, 2004). Seligman writes about the large increase in time vendors had to undertake to reach the new locations of their market spaces after the policy changes took place. Vendors could no longer operate in the spaces where people (tourists) would likely congregate. They could no longer follow the foot traffic, but had to wait for the foot traffic to come to them. This meant increases in commuting time for many vendors, it meant the breakdown of informal networks of information between vendors, and it meant increased strains on family life.

Another issue with de Soto’s policy proposal is that it views formality and informality as binaries. Whereas that binary may exist in theory (and in the offices of high ranking government officials), it does not exist in practice. Rather, formality and informality exist as parts of a spectrum of “types” of formality across spaces. There are certain spaces in which informality is less regulated and spaces where it is strictly regulated. Formality and informality in Peru have also taken on racial categories, which is important to how the issue has been dealt with. Peru is a racially divided country and this division has been written about in popular culture. In 1943,

11 Peruvian historian Jorge Basadre coined the terms Peru Oficial (Legal or Official Peru) and Peru

Profundo (Deep Peru) in an essay. Basadre was referring to the difference between the state apparatus and the people of the nation. But over time the term Peru Profundo began to take on a racial category and came to specifically refer to the Indian component of Peru’s national identity

(Lasater-Wille, 2015). Thus, it is Peru Profundo that must be unearthed, educated, and brought up to the level of Peru Oficial. This is where the hegemonic practices of the state can be seen to be working in food festivals such as Mistura.

In the context of festivals in Peru we can think of the metaphor of Peru Oficial and Peru

Profundo as Peru Formal and Peru Popular. The state looks at Lima (and by extension Mistura) as the face of Peru Formal and Cusco (and by extension Inti Raymi) as the face of Peru Popular.

However, the state’s function is not to completely eliminate Peru Popular, but rather to place

Peru Formal in a position for certain actors on the world stage to see, and to place Peru Popular into a space where it is “legitimate” to display. Thus, a city such as Cusco, with its rich history of indigeneity and otherness becomes the place where a different form of order may take hold.

To be part of Peru Formal, in a neoliberal sense, means to be part of the formal economy and to be part of Peru Popular means to operate in a more nebulous area. In order to understand the spaces in which formality and informality operate, and move beyond de Soto’s binaries, we must understand how they relate to citizenship, and thus one’s relation to the state. According to

Holston and Appadurai, formal membership in a nation-state is neither a necessary nor a sufficient condition for substantive citizenship (Holston and Appadurai, 1998). Formal citizenship refers to the legal status of an individual to pertain to a nation-state. Substantive citizenship reflects the ability of that individual to enjoy the rights of citizenship through acts such as voting. According to Ian Wood, street vendors’ appropriation of public spaces effectively

12 challenges formal citizenship and exercises substantive citizenship (Wood, 2011). Substantive citizenship challenges the inflexibility of formal and liberal citizenship models. It is a practice- based approach where individuals claim rights and guarantees rather than rely on the privileges granted by the state. In Slow Boil, Jonathan Shapiro Anjaria’s ethnography on street vending in

Mumbai, we come across questions of citizenship negotiation (Anjaria, 2016). Anjaria highlights how neighborhood associations, made up of middle class citizens, mobilize efforts to enforce state apparatuses to police the divisions between proper and improper uses of public space. The hawkers, or street vendors, in Mumbai are simultaneously outside the law and enmeshed with the state (Anjaria, 2016). They are part of the neighborhood while also being outsiders to it.

The spaces in which formality and informality operate exist beyond the binary that de

Soto highlights in his policy proposals. In the case of street food vendors we can look at

Anjaria’s example of informal hawkers that operate under the protection of the police (Anjaria,

2016). When unlicensed vendors are caught by police in Mumbai, their carts and wares are oftentimes confiscated and locked in state-owned compounds. The carts are then rented out to other vendors who pay a rental fee. These vendors are then allowed to operate on the streets without experiencing police harassment. We see two types of hawkers on the streets of Mumbai that are the same in every way expect for the fact that one rents their cart from the police and the other owns their cart. What is interesting about these situations is that even though the hawkers who rent the carts are still operating under the same informality as those who do not, the prior hawkers are allowed to operate freely without police harassment. We see then, in practice, a space that is created (through the purchasing of state-owned carts) in which informality is extended beyond the formal/informal binary.

13 Informality is also not a homogenous category, but rather there are ways informality can be constructed. For example, informality from above is a state strategy (Wood, 2011). What this means is that informality is not just something that is “not formal,” but rather it is something that the state can choose to move into and out of the formal category. The state has the power to determine what belongs to the formal category and what lies outside of it. The state also has the power to suspend the rules and change what belongs to the formal category, as we see in festivals. Thus, informality can also have a temporal aspect to it. Street food vending may often exist in the informal category in Cusco, but during festivals the categories may be blurred so that street food vending is temporarily seen as a formal, accepted activity. Roy and Alsayyad argue that the logic of the state in the neoliberal era of economic flexibilization is to ask the following: which forms of informality should exist (Roy and AlSayyad, 2004)? Certain forms of informality can enjoy (unstable) legitimacy while others may be annihilated (Roy and AlSayyad, 2004).

Formality is one way in which the state constructs formal citizens. Ian Wood states that,

“Historically, the work of state apparatuses has been to shape the conduct of its citizens according to state rationalities” (Wood, 2011, 55). Formal citizenship is imagined as a universal concept and is thought to be superior to all other forms of citizenship. It is the exclusive form of citizenship in the Western world and it is also a measure used to judge non-Western nations on their paths towards “development.” Wood states, “the consequence of a Western inheritance of the tradition of citizenship is a conflation of the traditions of citizenship with urban government, which creates a perception of civilization as based in Western urban spaces” (Wood, 2011, 55).

Because of this conflation, Western traditions such as neoliberalism become naturalized as the mode of citizenship of Western society. Thus, the moves in Peru to strengthen neoliberal policies

14 are tied to a desire to portray the nation-state as “Western” in its commitment to creating formal citizens.

In the context of Mistura this means creating a space that is clean, rational, ordered, and disciplined. This means assigning designated squares for vendors to sell out of. It means policing those who are not associated with the festival itself with the use of hygiene brigades. It means controlling any overflow of vendors or impediments to foot traffic. What is interesting is to compare the strict regulation of the Mistura festival in Lima to the Inti Raymi festival in Cusco.

Although the vendors are regulated in Cusco and given spaces in which to sell out of, they are enforced to a lesser degree compared to the vendors in Lima. There are no hygiene brigades going around the vending stalls ensuring that vendors are complying with rational, public health sanctioned hygiene practices.

Informality can also take shape from below and can be seen as more than just reactions to state regulation (Wood, 2011). Informality from below can be seen as a political and moral act in which informal workers claim certain rights to space of which they are excluded from. Bayat notes that informal vendors actively claim space and, in doing so, resist the ordering of public spaces by the state (Wood, 2011). “Street vendors suffer the economic, gendered, racial, and class dimensions of marginality that are reproduced through exclusionary practices in the state regulation of informality” (Wood, 2011, 22). Street food vendors in Cusco are often informal and in many cases they exist on the marginal fringes of the social spectrum. In Lima, we see instances of informality from above taking place, whereas in Cusco we see more instances of informality from below. Both forms of informality can exist side by side, but the character of one can supersede the character of the other.

15 Fiestas as Civic Rituals

Anthropological approaches to studying the festival have included critical examinations of the rituals that are present within the festivals themselves. One of the methods pursued by

Victor Turner was the idea that rituals act as a process that “heals” a society around moments of

“life crisis” (Turner, 1995). This idea of ritual as a healing process is appropriate to Peru in the moment we are experiencing the gastronomic boom in Lima. The boom is a source of tourism and tourism is the major source of income for both Cusco and Peru as a whole. As was noted before from El Comercio, Machu Picchu alone generated close to $500 million dollars in 2013

(El Comercio, 2014). This statistic does not include the amount of tourism dollars generated from other Inca temples and ruins.

Rituals are a part of the food festivals, or fiestas, that take place in both Lima and Cusco.

Peruvian anthropologist Enrique Mayer writes that there are two types fiestas that should be distinguished in the Andes of Peru: private and community fiestas (Mayer, 1974). From there,

Mayer further breaks down community fiestas into two types: those sponsored by authorities of the state, region, or village and fiestas in honor of patron saints sponsored by individual families for the whole village. We can thus view the food festivals in both Lima and Cusco as state- sponsored community fiestas. They are events where the public engages with sets of rituals meant to honor the state.

In the Weberian sense, festivals such as Mistura can be viewed as the state’s attempts to rationalize society, in this case the festival and rituals that take place in it. Weber believed that such a move towards rationality hampered social relations and was built in an impersonal manner

(Weber, 2006). Weber called this move towards rationality the “iron cage” and believed that the cage trapped individuals in a system based purely on teleological efficiency and rational

16 calculation and control (Weber, 2006). What is lost from the rationalization of such festivals, it could be argued, are the social relations that exist unbeknownst to the rational, calculating state.

These social relations are part of what constitutes a successful ritual and thus the hyper-order that appears in festivals such as Mistura may be a cause of a failed ritual. But how can we characterize a failed ritual?

The Failed Ritual

Rituals are especially important to a city such as Cusco. Catherine Allen, in her ethnography The Hold Life Has, considered the ritual practices through which the people of

Sonqo, a village located about an hour from Cusco, connect themselves with the land and in the process define and express their cultural identity as runakuna, or people of the earth (Allen,

2005). The ritual maintenance of the bond between people and land is a constant practice, carried on in daily routine as well as in the more intensified context of religious rites. Allen writes about the festivals held in the village of Sonqo and how they are viewed with pride as ties to an Inca past. Certain pre-conquest ways of being are celebrated during festivals and through ritual practices. Allen writes about one festival, the festival of Santa Cruz:

The ayllu met its obligations at Santa Cruz festival. The sponsors came through with an

admirable feast, but nevertheless, in ritual terms the event was not a great success. The

ritual’s form had been observed, but the desirable outpouring of high spirits in dance, song,

and libation had not taken place- and therefore could not return to the ayllu as vitality and

well-being. A demoralized community may feel no enthusiasm for the performance of the

rituals. Festivals are thus spaces in which rituals can be performed in order to strengthen

17 the ayllu’s well-being. Runakuna and tirakuna come together in these festival moments”

(Allen, 2005, 154).

We see from Allen’s example that festivals are spaces where rituals may take place, but are not necessarily always successful. In the case of the Santa Cruz festival, the ritual’s form had been observed by the ayllu: food and drinks were provided in the form of a great feast. But what was missing was the outpouring of high spirits. The ritual in turn was a failed ritual because it failed to engender enthusiasm and thus failed to strengthen the ayllu’s well-being. Festivals are important to the ayllu (community) and the strength of the ayllu’s bonds between its people

(runakuna) and its environment (tirakuna). Thus, a festival and the ritual practices that are performed during the festival are important to the well-being of the community. The city of

Cusco and its inhabitants hold a strong sense of pride in once being the capital of Tahuantinsuyu, the Inca Empire. In many ways, they continue to embody the values of their ancestors and two very important forms of expression are festivals and food. As food historian Rosario Olivas

Weston writes, “festivals have been an important part of life in Cusco since the height of the Inca

Empire. Festivals could last anywhere from a day until well over 20 days” (Olivas Weston, 2015,

33). Festivals and celebrations thus constitute a vital part of the city’s own character. There is a rich history of festivals and food served at those festivals. Whereas a city like Lima also holds food festivals, they are not (at least not yet) as strongly tied to how the city (and those who inhabit it) defines itself.

If the people of Sonqo hold festivals and within those festivals hold rituals, then by extension the city of Cusco can also hold rituals within the festivals it holds (such as Inti Raymi).

What does it mean for a state festival, and thus ritual, to be successful? What does it mean for

18 that ritual to fail? Using Allen’s framework, I will explore the idea of a failed ritual in the context of the Inti Raymi in Cusco.

It was around 7pm and the sun had already set in Cusco. I had spent the morning exploring the city through the recommendations of the hostel owner. I was sitting in the café of the hostel writing down some notes when the owner came over to me to let me know a performance at Qorikancha (the Sun Temple) was about to start and I should make my way to the temple if I was interested. I decided I could write my notes later and should take advantage of the performance for it might be useful for my research. Nights in Cusco are cold when the sun goes down so I put on several layers and headed into the night. The temple was a five-minute walk from the hostel and the streets of Cusco are lively at night. Women sell chicha (a drink brewed from corn) on corners and men walk around selling paintings of Machu Picchu.

Qorikancha takes up several city blocks and below the temple there was a field where a stage had been set up. In front of the stage there were a dozen or so rows of chairs that were occupied by people in traditional ponchos, scarves, and hats.

The walls of Qorikancha stood high above the stage and Peruvian men dressed in Inca warrior garb (shields and all) were standing motionless on the tops of the walls. The Inca warriors were perched above the audience, watching the spectacles performed below until it was their time to join in. What was interesting about the spectacle was that the military had sponsored this particular event. The MC was in a military uniform and a military band was setting up in the background. On a giant projector screen behind the stage a video advertising the Peruvian military was playing on a loop. Men were seen running in formation and jumping out of helicopters while dramatic music roared from the speakers, filling the space with a sense of excitement. Children were running around up and down the yard pretending to shoot each other

19 with hand pistols. This event was meant to be a celebration of Cusco’s Inca heritage, but it was celebrating a very specific aspect of it: Incas as warriors. The narrative of Cusqueños as descendants of warriors was pervasive and was reinforced by the impressive walls of Qorikancha with the Inca warriors standing stoically looking down from above. The event was supposed to showcase the strength and legitimacy of the Peruvian army, a mandate passed down through generations that could be traced all the way back to the height of Tahuantinsuyu.

But if this was the goal of the spectacle, it was undercut by the presence of local organizations. After a performance showcasing the different uniforms worn by different types of officers, a monolingual Quechua speaking man walked up to the podium and began to recite a poem about city of Cusco. What was captivating about the moment was that it broke the hegemonic use of Spanish during the event. No one was translating the poem into Spanish, rather, Quechua in that moment was the dominant language. Those who could understand the poem did so, and the rest of us who could not stood captivated by the sheer force of the man’s voice through the loudspeakers.

As anthropologist Ann Ping-Addo writes, festivals are sites of power production and a shifting politics of nationalism (Ping-Addo, 2009). In this case in Cusco, there were differing narratives competing with each other over the right way to perform nationalism. A moment such as the one I experienced at Qorikancha that night would never have been permissible in Lima.

Interpreters would have been present to narrate the events back into Spanish. A certain amount of control would have been maintained by speaking in the language of the elite. Kregg

Hetherington writes in his book, Guerrilla Auditors, about a scene that takes place in the bureaucratic offices of the state in the Paraguayan capital of Asuncion. Spanish is the language of the urban elite in Paraguay (Hetherington, 2011). It is the language of reason and rationality.

20 Guarani is the language of rural peasants. It is the language of passion and irrationality. The scene takes place in the office of a general manager in a state department. The manager is seated at his desk and to his sides are his assistants and a government lawyer. The other people in the room are peasants (and Hetherington) who are requesting an audience with the bureaucrat over land issues. The peasants crowd around the desk and remain standing to create a commanding presence in the room. And they conduct the entirety of the conversation in Guarani. The bureaucrats and his assistants understand Guarani, but are far from fluent. What I want to highlight about this event is that in this space Guarani momentarily becomes the dominant mode of communication. A similar thing happened in the square that night below the impressive walls of Qorikancha when during that moment Quechua was the dominant mode of communication, even if it was only temporary.

The purpose of the event held at Qorikancha that night was to solidify the state’s military prominence and its ties to an Inca past. Whereas the event was held mostly in Spanish, the dominant language of Peru, Quechua speakers were invited to attend the event and speak as well.

The ritual was meant to solidify a hierarchy between Spanish-speaking Peru and Quechua- speaking Peru. But if we view the event at Qorikancha that night through Allen’s framework of the failed ritual, then we can conclude that the ritual itself was a failure. The ritual was supposed to highlight the importance and power of the state’s military. It was supposed to underscore the superiority of Spanish over Quechua. It was supposed to highlight one way (urban, rational) of life over another (rural, irrational), but in the end it failed to accomplish its goals. Quechua remained prominent throughout the ceremony. The military might of the Peruvian state remained secondary to the event.

21 We can thus see that rituals are put on from above and from below. In the case of the ritual held at Qorikancha, the ritual was a state-sponsored event and it failed in the context of

Allen’s framework. The ritual failed to engender the enthusiasm and outpouring of high spirits that a successful ritual is meant to achieve. There is a break in the dominance of Spanish over

Quechua, there is a lapse in the moment of dominance. But multiple rituals may exist in within a space simultaneously. Perhaps there were other rituals I had not noticed, because they did not have the same spectacle as the state’s ritual did. Perhaps these other rituals (offerings to the pachamama) succeeded and went unnoticed by those who were busy watching the state’s ritual.

On Street Food

Street food is the form of informal economy that I am specifically interested in because of the extra dimensions that food takes on in societies. Food can signify class status: what one eats can be a signifier to what one’s position in society is. Specifically, in Peru, indigenous people from the mountains who ate whole cuy (guinea pig) were seen as backwards compared to those in Lima. Food contains meaning and is used to carry out ritual practices, certain foods and beverages are offered to the pachamama (earth) during festivals and gatherings.

According to Raul Matta, “what is known as the ‘Peruvian gastronomic revolution’ cannot be dissociated from recent changes in Peru’s society and politics” (Matta, 2014). Once the war ended and Fujimori was exiled, Peru needed a new way to portray itself to the world. This moment overlapped with the rise of several celebrity chefs who were looking to redefine

Peruvian food for Peruvians. Until that moment, wealthy Peruvians and tourists ate at European restaurants in Lima. Lower class Peruvians (and indigenous Peruvians) were the ones who ate foods such as cuy, chifa (Chinese-Peruvian food), and tacu-tacu (rice and lentil patties of African

22 origin). Celebrity chefs such as Bernardo Roca Rey began to use Peruvian ingredients in

European inspired dishes, which he termed cocina novoandino (New Andean Cuisine). But it was Gaston Acurio who was the spark that led to the growth of Peruvian cuisine as a world-class cuisine. Acurio’s restaurant, Astrid y Gaston, was the first fine dining restaurant to cook

Peruvian dishes using Peruvian ingredients for foreigners and wealthy Peruvians alike. The rise of Peruvian gastronomy fit well with the neoliberal values espoused by the Peruvian government and academics like de Soto. Peruvian food could be packaged and sold, exported and displayed.

It was something that could be capitalized on in order to bring in tourism dollars. These steps taken by the Peruvian government are part of a larger strategy known as “culinary nation branding” and are ways of competing on the global scale for tourists looking for “authentic” experiences (Mendelson-Forman, 2014). This culinary nation branding, which John and Jean

Comaroff labeled Ethnicity, Inc., is an extension of neoliberal economic policies currently playing out in countries around the world. The promise of Ethnicity, Inc., “to unlock new forms of self-realization, sentiment, entitlement, enrichment” as Comaroff have noted, is yet unknown.

At the same time, informal street food was a potential source of income as well. According to de

Soto, what the Peruvian government needed to do was to “formalize” these informal street vendors in order to capitalize on their entrepreneurial skills.

Peruvian cuisine can roughly be separated into two distinct categories of dishes. The first are the dishes that home cooks and neighborhood chefs have been cooking for decades, recipes that have been passed down through the generations. The second is the haute cuisine prepared by the celebrity chefs for tourists and upper class Peruvians. Both types of cuisines are representative of Peru, but there are power dynamics behind them as well. The foreigners and gastro-tourists who flock to Lima to experience Peruvian cuisine are oftentimes going to try the

23 haute cuisine dishes. These dishes use traditional Peruvian ingredients, but reimagine their presentation using French techniques. For example, cuy is often eaten roasted whole on a spit, but the top restaurants in Lima would never serve it that way. Rather, the chefs choose to disguise the cuy in more familiar forms such as making filling for raviolis or perhaps adding pieces of it to a salad.

We can extend the metaphor of Peru Formal and Peru Popular to encompass the two categories of dishes. What gets highlighted as being Peruvian and what is disseminated to tourists around the globe are the recipes and dishes created by celebrity Peruvian chefs. Peru

Popular, the dishes that are tied to the places they are made, the local knowledges are overshadowed by Peru Formal, the universal Peruvian cuisine. Thus, the dishes such as quinoa risotto become known as Peruvian around the world, but the majority of Peruvians will never make quinoa risotto and a substantial number of them can’t even afford quinoa anymore. The experts on Peruvian food are the chefs who open restaurants internationally. Gaston Acurio owns restaurants in major cities around the world. Virgilio Martinez owns a restaurant in London. The importance of place for these two types of cuisine is vital to how each of them operate. Whereas home cooks and local restaurants produced recipes and dishes that were representative of specific places, haute cuisine has capitalized on removing these ingredients from their home environments and inserting them into preparations from elsewhere: isolating ingredients and putting them into new contexts.

Orin Starn’s concept of “Andeanism” persists in the culinary world as Peruvian cuisine continues to expand globally. Andeanism is the tendency to exoticize indigenous Andean communities as though they are remnants of the past (Starn, 1999). There are elements of

“culinary colonialism” present in the presentation of Peruvian food in this way. It structures the

24 idea that haute cuisine must travel deep within Peru to “discover” the ingredients that are worthy of global appreciation. Culinary festivals, such as Mistura, extol the diversity of Peruvian ingredients and cuisine and serve Limeños foods that may seem as exotic as foods from another continent. The conflation of ingredients and people as tied to the region they come from helps create divisions between Peruvians. Amy Lasater-Wille talks about her interviews with Apega members’ concerns of the current insufficiencies of many Peruvians to serve as culinary ambassadors abroad (Lasater-Wille, 2015). The worry of the Apega members often took the form of lack of hygiene among public food vendors. There was a certain way that food should be prepared and served to foreigners. There was a certain vision of Peru that Apega members wanted to portray to the world.

Cleanliness, rationality, and order are all virtues extolled by the state in Peru regarding street food vendors. These are qualities that the state appraises from afar, because how could anyone know about the networks that exist with their own forms of order invisible to passers-by without having spent time on the streets themselves?

Every night around 8pm a pair of women set up a grill on the intersection of Avenida

Pampa de Castillo and Avenida Maruri. The women’s names are Maria and Luz and both were born and raised in Cusco. Avenida Maruri is a busy road that leads to the Avenida del Sol. Cars, buses, and motorcycles are constantly flowing in both directions while pedestrians vie for space to squeeze through the traffic. Avenida Pampa de Castillo turns into Calle Loreto, an exclusively pedestrian walkway, at the intersection. This means that as swarms of pedestrians walk down

Calle Loreto away from the plaza de armas and towards Qoriqancha, they have to wait at the intersection for the right moment to squeeze through the endless line of automobiles, next to the hot grill on which Maria and Luz baste and cook anticuchos. The smells waft over to the

25 pedestrians waiting to cross and tempt them to walk over and buy an anticucho or two. It is in this strategic location that Maria and Luz set up their grill and in which I accompanied them for several nights.

People trickle by as the meat starts to cook and the smells start to waft through the cool night air. A couple of students walk by and ask about the anticuchos, Maria tells them they’ll be ready in five minutes. They take a seat on some boxes and continue to chat amongst themselves.

I walked over and introduced myself to Maria and Luz and explained I was an anthropologist interested in studying Peruvian street food. I asked if it would be ok for me to sit by and observe them as they set up their workstation and sold anticuchos for the evening. They seemed skeptical of why I would be interested in watching them work, but they agreed and offered me a seat on a crate next to the grill.

I was only with Maria and Luz for several hours over 5 nights, but during that time I was given the opportunity to clean potatoes, chat with some of the customers, clean the grill, and, of course, eat antichuchos. The women would begin setting up their grill around 8pm and be ready to serve antichuchos by 9pm. First let me start by explaining what anticuchos are. Anticuchos are traditionally made of slices of marinated beef heart and cooked on skewers over a grill. The marinade is a mix of aji (hot pepper) paste and spices. Anticuchos can be traced back to the 16th century and were popular among the inhabitants of the Inca Empire. Anticuchos are eaten on a skewer and sometimes have a small grilled potato on the end of the skewer. Maria and Luz made two types of anticuchos: beef heart and chicken. And they included a potato on the end.

Let me explain the intricacies of a typical night selling anticuchos in Cusco. The women arrive every night by foot pushing a handcart that has been converted into a grill. Maria begins to set up the grill while Luz goes through containers filled with marinating meats and arranges them

26 behind their workspace. Their work area is a six by five-foot area that they mark off with the grill, two crates on which they sit during slow periods, a stack of plastic containers that hold the meat, a bag of freshly unearthed potatoes, and a bag of coal.

What I noticed during those nights on the street corner with Maria and Luz was that there existed ties between the vendors and the customers. There were customers who were regulars, who would come to the stand to buy their dinner before heading off to work. There were customers who I noticed did not exchange money for their transactions, and so I wondered in what other ways the forms of exchange were taking place. There was a humanity that existed when Maria and Luz cooked and served food. It was a sense of community and conviviality that existed in the space Maria and Luz operated out of. This sense of conviviality is what remains, but what about what has been lost by the interference of the state in regulating informal markets?

Anthropologits Gracia Clark writes about the Ghanaian government’s success in “shutting down unofficial urban food supply channels at enormous social cost” (Clark, 1988, 10). The Ghanaian government is successful in doing so, but does not provide viable alternatives. Because unofficial

(informal) vending fills in the gaps and shortcomings of official (formal) vending, closing the gaps requires increasing official channels of distribution to provide adequate access to affordable food. The Ghanaian government fails to do so in this situation and the outcome is many people lose their livelihoods, and many others lose their access to affordable food.

In his ethnography Sidewalk, Sociologist Mitchell Duneier writes about the “invisible” social networks between magazine, newspaper, and book vendors who operate in and around the

West Village in New York City. Duneier integrates himself into the networks that exist between the street vendors and is able to form constellations of vendors who provide services to uphold a structure of street vending (Duneier, 2000). Thus, when a vendor has a child, other vendors may

27 lend a hand in watching that child throughout the day in exchange for extra book space on a table. In this same way, Seligman acquires consciousness of these “hidden” networks through interviews and observations of the street vendors in Cusco. A by-product of the city’s change in policy is that these networks are interrupted and often destroyed in exchange for a permanent dwelling space. One of the vendors who Seligman interviews states, “There used to be a union…. But since Carlos Valencia [mayor], it’s very difficult.” Seligman writes that in street vending, the flow of people is correlated closely to access to the flow of information about market conditions, social dynamics, and economic and political policies (Seligman, 2004). What may appear to be congestion to urban authorities are the moments that create the conditions for clients, vendors, and wholesalers to exchange vital information about markets and prices.

What about the soul of the festival? What does it mean for a festival to be successful, but the ritual within that festival to have failed? I believe that in Cusco this phenomenon can be tied into the ritual of cooking itself. When I watched Maria and Luz on that corner those nights in

Cusco, I struck by the joie de vivre of the two women as they cooked throughout the night; it was one of the reasons I was attracted to that location in the first place. There is nothing “disorderly” about the two women nor their workplace. They set up their station as any other cook would.

Their mis-en-place (things in their place) was arranged such that they could reach for their ingredients with minimal effort and maximize their efficiency. But this type of order remains incommensurate to the station, it remains illegible. The very fact that Maria and Luz operate on that corner informally is a form of disorder to the state. But what happens when the state removes them from that corner? The exuberance of the women’s anticucho stand disappears. The people whose lives they touch move on by without stopping to recharge and exchange gossip; the soul of the street diminishes.

28 There is also an order of the street that I observed those nights I spent with Maria and

Luz. There is an order that is invisible to the untrained eye, but that when operating smoothly, that order makes life easier for many of the people involved. The students walking home from late classes know they can stop by Maria and Luz and have a cheap bite to eat before heading home to rest up for the next day. Men and women working the night shifts stop by the antichucho stand to pick up a quick dinner before heading to their destinations. If the hyper-order of the state is imposed over the order of the street and vendors, something is lost, something

“irrational.” Perhaps we can call it the soul, the soul which centers around food. And how can we theorize the soul within the context of Peruvian festivals? We can refer to it as a form of sociality or conviviality. In the Peruvian context food provides the bonds that support the ayllu and the pachamama. It is the assemblage of networks that exist beyond an economistic lens. Food transcends the register of money and becomes something more.

Conclusion

Peru as a nation has had to rebrand itself since the time of the Shining Path and the lost decade. Food has been one of the sources of inspiration for rebranding the Peruvian nation as a tourist destination beyond Machu Picchu. In 2006, Mincetur, the Peruvian ministry of foreign commerce and tourism, launched a food marketing campaign called “Peru Mucho Gusto.” The following year the Peru’s Ministry of Culture elevated the country’s gastronomy to the level of national heritage (Matta, 2014). In 2011, the OAS added Peruvian food as part of “cultural heritage of the Americas.” Today, the Peruvian government is working to add Peruvian food to

UNESCO’s World Heritage inventory. It comes as little surprise that the state backed such projects that espoused the values of rationality and order after emerging from a period of chaos.

29 If order and rationality were the key to rebranding Peru’s image to the world, then the neoliberal policies of economists such as de Soto were the keys to eradicating poverty and informality. But as we saw the policies that attempted to stamp out informal vending in Cusco ended up creating more informal vending and destroying invisible networks in the process. The city would formalize vendors by taking them off the streets and house them in large centros comerciales and provide them with designated space to vend out of.

And between Lima and Cusco we see examples of different forms of order. Rather than exist as a binary against disorder, we see that order, like rationality, exists on a spectrum.

Whereas in Lima and Mistura we saw a form of hyper-order, in Cusco and Inti Raymi we saw a more flexible form of order. Lima, or Peru Formal, is the face of the nation to the world. Lima must present a rational, ordered city because it is the seat of Peru’s government, the government that is aiming to re-brand its nation’s image.

Rituals are an important part of life in the Andes and many are often performed within the bounds of festivals. Rituals can be conducted from above and below. Thus, festivals can be put on by the state that includes state rituals. And festivals can be put on by communities that includes more local festivals. We saw how rituals can be successful as well as failures. Then we examined an ethnographic account of a failed ritual and what that meant in relation to the state and the people.

I also looked at the role of food in festivals in Peru. We saw its importance in signifying class, race, or gender as well as honoring the pachamama. What happens, then, when the soul of this type of system, this ordering of street vendors, is removed? What becomes of the invisible networks? Where do the people go to buy their necessities? Must they now travel further distances? These are all questions that are regrettably answered, yes. When viewed through a

30 strictly economistic lens, it made no difference if vendors were formalized, they would lose nothing for the formalization. But when viewed from another angle, an anthropological one, networks of friends and informants were destroyed. Families would spend more time away from home because of the increased commute time. I also spent time with two women who sold anticuchos on a street corner in Cusco. The women’s names were Maria and Luz and they sold anticuchos with a tenacity and passion I rarely ever see. There was nothing disorderly or irrational about these two street vendors, in fact, they seemed to be the soul of that Cusco street corner. Acting as a gathering place of friends and neighbors. Providing and affordable source of sustenance to the workers trying to support families.

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